


Christmas tales-2017

by atlantisdesetoiles



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1, Stargate Universe
Genre: Christmas, Cute, Ficlet, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 06:40:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14514630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlantisdesetoiles/pseuds/atlantisdesetoiles
Summary: Collections of short stories written for my stargate's advent calendar 2017. From a wraith searching a present for his favorites worshippers to the reflections of a nox about humanity, there is a little of everythings.Canon characters and OC.





	1. A long slumber

**Author's Note:**

> Some are written by me, other by my amazing beta-reader Dieterhoffman on FF!   
> I apologise, for English is not our native language.

Two years, five months, twenty-seven days, three hours and twelve minutes. It was the time Eli had spent alone on the Destiny. Alone in this gigantic ship launched at a breathtaking speed between two distant galaxies. Alone, with no one to talk to, no one to touch.  
Cheer up Eli! You are a loner anyways.  
There were the communication stones, but he was just borrowing someone else's body for a few hours, and since it was SGC staff, it was not at will. Four hours every seven days. Four hours out of one hundred and sixty-eight. That was 2.3% of his time, much of which was often dedicated to his weekly reports. The rest of the time, he was alone with himself. Alone with the emptiness and silence. Alone in a ship in economy mode, most corridors without light or heat, sometimes without oxygen.  
Cheer up Eli! You are a big boy, and you are no longer afraid of the dark.  
He had enough oxygen for the galaxy jump but only if he didn't consume too much. He had calculated, and the scientists at SGC had confirmed. A maximum of two hours of sports a week, and ideally between ten and twelve hours of sleep or rest a day to save atmosphere. He had no books, no movie to watch, and could not even move to busy himself. Today, on Earth, it was Christmas, and he was there, lost and forgotten, lightyears away from all human life, with nothing else to do than engrave strange swirling patterns on the metal walls with the steel rod that once had been a screwdriver, but made unrecognizable by dint of scribbling on the walls, floors and ceilings, first in accessible cabins of the Destiny, then corridors, until he reached the refectory, the bottom wall of which he had scarcely touched. It was Christmas and he was alone with himself and the heady sound of metal against metal.  
Cheer up Eli! You never liked all this hype around the Holidays.  
He missed Chloe, even though they had moved away before he had put her in stasis.  
He missed Lieutenant Johansen with his compassion and kind smile. He even missed Young and Rush, with their bad tempers.  
Cheer up Eli! It was you who volunteered for that.  
He laughed sadly, crushing a lonely tear rolling on his cheek with an angry hand. Another six months, two days, twenty hours and forty-eight minutes and this hell would be over. In six months, they would have arrived in this other galaxy, safe and sound, and he would not be alone anymore. He continued to engrave the cold metal again. Yes, soon, it would be over, and in five days, just barely over one hundred and twenty hours, he would be on Earth, to see his family and share a Christmas/New Year meal with them. He had came over the biggest. He had survived the hardest. He smiled without happiness.  
Cheer up Eli. It's Christmas today!  
With a sigh, he stood up, backing a step or two to observe his work.  
He nodded appreciatively.  
It was Christmas and he even had a tree. A large, thousand-year-old metal tree, almost two meters high.  
Smile Eli. It's Christmas today!


	2. Jaffa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by DieterHoffmann

Without necessarily adopting them all, Teal'c had grasped the meaning of many Tau'ri customs. The moment of familial conviviality and exchange of gifts known as Christmas, in particular, was easy to understand: a period of peace that one wishes to spend with the loved ones, to feast and to receive objects more or less useful, a brief moment when one does not have to think about the horror and roughness of the galaxy, the monsters that hid in the stars.  
"Daniel now!" Carter exclaimed, handing over to the archaeologist a kraft paper wrapped package decorated with scarlet ribbons.  
He didn't wait to be asked to tear the packaging with the impatience of a child. Teal'c liked to see his comrades relax so well; opportunities on the ground or in the base were often missing.  
"Is it genuine ?" Daniel asked jokingly, a statuette of criosphinx in his hands.  
"Alas no, but I know it was at least made in Egypt." laughed the major.  
"It's perfect, you who complain that you no longer have a clipboard for your office!" Colonel O'Neill chastised, his eternal mocking smile on his lips.  
Then he turned to Teal'c, and handed him a simple paper bag -on which he had still glued one of those grotesque bow in multicolored wool that humans seemed so fond of.  
"Do not think I forgot you, old friend!" The soldier smiled.  
The Jaffa nodded, thanking his comrade-in-arms, and gently peeled off the adhesive paper. With a slightly troubled air, the extraterrestrial contemplated the contents of the bag, while O'Neill seemed to make a huge effort not to laugh. As the silence lingering, Jackson intervened:  
"So, Teal'c, what did Jack give you? "  
"Yes, show us!" Carter adds.  
The colossus took out a packet of filled cakes from the paper bag. In white letters on the blue cardboard, all could read these two words: Jaffa Cakes.  
An icy silence ensued, only troubled by O'Neill's stupid chortle.  
"The Jaffa is a kind of oranges." he explained, apparently convinced that no one had grasped the subtlety of his pun. "And since we traditionally offer oranges at Christmas ... and you are a Jaffa ..."  
Teal'c raised a dubious eyebrow.  
"No, forget it, it was not that good ..." the soldier resigned himself.  
"Thank you, however, for racking your brain, Colonel." conceded the alien, a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.  
He opened the package, pulled out the citrus treats, and take them to the round. "I think it's also traditional to share during this party, isn't it? "


	3. Not your ordinary Santa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by DieterHoffmann

Naiael had never been so hungry in her whole life. After she miraculously escaped the Goa’uld from a planet she had thought to be safe, the she-Reol jumped through the Gate after dialing the first coordinates that went through her mind. And then she found herself walking through a thick layer of snow, following what she hoped was a trail until, to her relief, she caught a glimpse of a village’s faint lights. It was pitch dark when she risked herself among the houses, mindful not to cross paths with anybody. Naiael was hurt and weakened, and she wouldn’t take the risk of her chemical camo betraying her – thing that could happen when the like of hers were unwell or starving. And though her wounds were not so bad, she could feel her stomach writhing painfully. She had to consume food, or she would collapse right there.  
The she-Reol took a glance through the window of one of the houses, assuming that, this late at night, humans should be sound asleep. No one in the living room, lit by a single half-burnt candle. And, on the end table, a bowl filled with some sort of biscuits sided with a glass full of white liquid. Naiael was no thief, but it was a matter of survival. She was surprised to find the window unlocked, and she preacautiously sneaked to the food. The crumpets, besides their lightly burnt look, tasted like a sweet and conforting bit of paradise. The white liquid, that she discovered was quite proteinated, refreshed her as well.  
« Santa ? »  
The quiet, sleepy female voice caught the she-Reol totally off guard, and she dropped the biscuit she held. Instinctively, she released her pheromones, taking the likeness of someone that, in the eyes of the child, would look familiar and reassuring. The youngster wore a lilac nightgown, and dragged a stuffed animal that look as fluffy as her hair.  
« Er… Yes, it is I, little one ! » replied a stilted Naiael.  
The child squinted her eyes, and a beaming smile lit her face up. She looked like she was ready to fall asleep on the spot, though.  
« I’m glad you liked the food I baked for you. I did as the Gate people told me, and you came… It’s nice ! So you’ve got presents for me, right ? »  
Despite the weariness, there was such hope in the voice and the eyes of the little girl that Naiael felt the sting of guilt for having pillaged the delicacies. She was clearly expecting someone else. And the she-Reol had nothing with her that could make a suitable present.  
« I’m so sorry, but those biscuits you made for me looked so appealing that I momentarily forgot about your gifts ! But if you go back to your bed and if you go back to sleep like a good girl, I’ll get them back out there and tomorrow, you’ll have the best of surprises ! »  
Looking satisfied, the child turned back with a yawn-muffled « Thanks, Santa ». What now ?, Naiael asked herself. She could not just get away with it, at the price of soundly disappointing the youngster… Suddenly, an idea sparkled in her mind.  
The next morning, when the blonde girl and her parents discovered (happily for the girls and with surprise for the adults) the woven straw semblance of a horse sitting on the table side by side with the empty bowl and glass, they did not seem to notice the female wayfarer who, with a smile on her lips, witnessed the scene through the window.  
Why couldn’t she stay on this planet for some more time, after all ? There surely were other kids waiting for that « Santa » man, whoever he might be.


	4. Runner

Kalol'kan smiled, happy, as Endora's cold wind rushed into his braid, trying to tear off a few strands. He detailed the landscape. The burnt ruins of what had been a village long ago, sleeping under an eternal snow coat. The runner was smart. No one had lived on this world since the Endorians plunged it into semi-darkness and an endless winter with the help of countless fusion bombs. But he was also stupid. The snow was almost reaching his waist, and even if the runner had a good lead over him, his deep trail had not yet been cleared by the heavy flakes that were falling continuously. He came after him quickly and safely in a silence pierced only by the crunchy sound of his boots in the snow. The trail led him to the remains of a first house, then disappeared into a second one.  
He entered cautiously, observing the clearer traces in the thin layer of snow that had engulfed itself from the gaping openings of the doors and windows. The human had blithely stomped around the chimney, and he guessed from the tracks that he had tried in vain to light a fire before coming out through the back door. He went back on the hunt with an excited roar.  
There was a snapping noise, then a flash of pain exploded in his thigh, in which was stuck a shard of sharp metal attached to the end of a long rod, held by the thin cord that he had detached by walking on it.  
With a grunt of pain, he tore the trap off of his leg, turning the pole to twigs before starting again, furious and limping.  
Two hours, three traps and a village further, Kalol'kan was exhausted, hungry from regeneration and cold, and of the runner still no trace.  
If he did not find it quickly, he would have to turn back, which wasn't an option.  
He bragged in front of his queen and the whole zenana that he would bring back the runner's head. He could not fail without becoming the laughing stock of all the hive.  
He had to find this damn runner.  
He started walking again, hoping the movement would keep the cold at bay.  
The trail led him to another ruined house. The seventh. A trap was surely waiting for him inside, or just at the exit. If the runner thought he was going to get caught again, he was wrong. With a wolfish grin, he sank into the thick layer of snow around the building, to reach the rear by which the runner had undoubtedly continued his escape.  
He came to the height of the only window that opened, black well on the profile of the house, when he perceived a movement off the corner of his eye. Instinctively, he leaned against the wall, the eaves protecting him from an avalanche of snow and bricks clearly piled there to his attention. This vicious little prey had planned that he would not enter the house. He understood his mistake, a bit too late. With a furious beast-like roar, the runner threw himself on him through the window he turned his back to, passing his thick leather belt around the neck of the hunter before squeezing with all his might.  
Kalol'kan tried to seize his weapon, sheathed on his thigh, but the runner, whose eyes filled with a murderous rage seemed to shine under the black mass of his long dreadlocks, tore it from his hands, breaking two of his fingers before throwing it into the snow where it disappeared.  
Kalol'kan was trying to fight with his fists, feet, anything, but the runner was strong. Strong as a wraith. As strong as him. Oxygen was starting to lack. Every gesture became more difficult, more painful. As if a malicious creature attached a new weight to its members every second. And always that look, riveted to his, liquid hate hotter than fire. Rage, anger, despair sunk in a devouring desire to kill.  
The contours of his vision were blurred, first vague and then darker, until there were only those black pupils locked unto his. A look that pierced him even more than the mind of the most inquisitive queen; then the darkness.


	5. It's not Christmas everyday

It's not Christmas every day. Daniel had always thought that this saying went rather well with his profession. As an archaeologist, most of his job was to search for things, knowing that he was unlikely to find them. And working for the SGC did not improve that. How many times had he found ruins absolutely revolutionary for the world of archeology, but had to give them up after only a few hours because they contained no technology and were therefore deemed "not interesting"? Too much.  
But for once, that was not the case. The Mendosians had been a great people, then the Goa'uld came, and they had been reduced to one of their innumerable slave people without any further personal culture. From their greatness there were only half-buried, monumental ruins and stories that grandmothers told their grandchildren at night by the fireside left.  
There was no technology here. In their golden age, they had reached the refinement of an ancient Roma but with the pictorial style of Inuit who had never seen a seal, and a pantheon worthy of the most complex cults of voodoo.  
And yet, for more than a month now, he had been allowed to explore at will what was left of a city he had named "Falou'kaman" from the inscriptions he had painfully decrypted with the help of an overpowerful program and a small team of linguists. It was real vacation for him, even better than vacation! Nothing else planned than to gently extract a terracotta pot or an engraved tablet from the ground. It was not Christmas every day, but for over a month and even if it was summer, it was Christmas for him! He would have to thank Jack for using of his new rank of general to offer him such a wonderful gift.


	6. Christmas present

Teyla said no. She told Rodney, she told Dr. Keller, she told him, and no one listened. Well, maybe except Ronon. But Ronon was a great warrior that nothing impressed and especially not the pleading look of a child. Teyla said no, and yet they were all there, an eggnog in their hands, watching Torren enthusiastically tear up the multicolored wrappers of too much gifts for a single little boy. All of this because he had authorized a band of imploring marines to organize a Christmas party in the mess with tree, christmas balls and garlands - all and everything. Sergeant Pollard even managed to make a gingerbread Nativity scene, which apart for the donkey that had been stolen by a glutton, stood proudly on the table between hot chocolate and biscuits. They were in another galaxy, and celebrating Christmas was a bit like going home. It was good. There was no Christmas in Pegasus, and Torren, who had been marveling at the preparations, and even more so at the explanations he had been given, had since asked nonstop whether Santa Claus would also bring him presents. With utter disregard for his mother's orders, he had asked everyone, and with this power that his status as the only child of the city conferred to him, he had been granted his wish. After Rodney categorically refused the role, Zelenka had reluctantly agreed to wear the red coat, and John would never have confessed, but he was impressed by the performance of the scientist, whose swearing in Czech when his feet were taken in the hem of the far-too-long pants, had added a touch of unexpected authenticity.  
And so, despite Teyla's embarrassed refusals, they had organized a big party and offered way too much gifts to Torren. If the child barely glanced at Rodney's plushie microscope - the physician now sulking away from the group -, the child had executed some sort of victory dance after unwrapping Lorne's firefighter costume kit. He had shown his best smile to Dr. Keller when discovering the human body album she gave to him, and Teyla seemed really happy with this fun and educational gift. The little remote-controlled car he had gifted, though, got him a hard look from the mother, to which he replied with a smirk and a shrug.  
Half a dozen stuffed toys, two boxes of Lego, three books, six puzzles and two G.I Joes later, there was only one package left under the tree.  
The child tore it up with as much enthusiasm as before, brandishing its contents barely a second before his mother, who had leaped like a tigress, tore it from his hands.  
A shocked whisper crossed the room.  
"Who offered my son a knife ?!” She shouted.  
Only silence answered her, but just like her, he had a pretty precise idea of the author of the ill-advised present.  
Ronon's scowl confirmed it.  
"Ronon! What were you thinking ?! Torren is only three years old!" raged Teyla.  
The Satedian scowled even more, arms crossed.  
"All these toys are very good, but Torren is no Earthling, he is Athosian. He lives in Pegasus. All these stuffed animals, all these... things will not save him when wraiths will come”, he answered in defence.  
"He's three, Ronon! He will not defend himself against anyone!” she yelled, more and more furious, waving the long blade under the former runner's nose.  
He had to calm the game. Ignoring the uncomfortable crowd staring at the altercation, he stepped forward, putting a soothing hand on Teyla's arm.  
"He will not have to defend himself against anyone Teyla, because we will all protect him, won't we, Ronon?"  
The Satedian glared at him.  
"Today, yes, but one day, he will be a man, and neither you nor me nor John will always be there to protect him”, Ronon replied, staring at the Athosian.  
"Three years old, Ronon!” she argued, a bit quieter but still furious.  
"My grandfather gave me this knife when I was his age. He himself received it from his father in his time."  
"Oh", Teyla murmured, suddenly calmer.  
She sighed, detailing the heavy hunting blade for the first time.  
"It's a precious gift", she added, weighing it.  
"Yes."  
She sighed deeply, as she did every time a negotiation got on her nerves.  
"I appreciate and fully recognize the value of this present, Ronon, and would make Torren aware of it too, but at the moment he is far too young to have a knife. I will give it to him when he will be able to understand what it represents and what it implies."  
That decision seemed to satisfy the Satedian, who nodded briefly.  
He allowed himself to relax.  
"What if we had a taste of these cakes?” he suggested in a falsely cheerful tone.


	7. Nox-mas

Winter had covered the world with a soft white coat. Trees and many animals slept peacefully, waiting for the return of spring to blossom again.  
Lya, a basket of winter berries under her arm, paused for a moment, gazing at the big stone ring, also sleeping under his cloak.  
They had buried it, then dug it up, and then buried it again, as the oh-so-young and surprising Taur'i had advised them. But in the end, when once again they had to take it out of the ground, the council had decided it would be better left there. After all, they had been protecting the Nox and all the other inhabitants of Gaia for millennia, hiding them from unwelcome eyes, and it had always worked. Why stop?  
Because the Tau'ri had advised them to do so. But they were young, and knew so little.  
Gentle, sincere and full of good intentions, but so ignorant of the ways of the universe.  
She smiled. Was it also winter on their world? Did it look like theirs, under a big coat of snow? She had gone there, but had only seen the military base where the Gate was hidden. Poor Taur'i, so terrified of their own people that they dared not reveal to them the existence of the Stargate and the hidden wonders beyond. Shaking her head compassionately, Lya started walking again. One day, maybe soon, they would be wise enough. One day, maybe soon, could they really walk together towards the future. That day, the Nox would be there, and welcome them with open arms. That day, beside the light footprints of his bare feet in the snow, one may find the deep traces of the heavy leather boots of the Earthlings.  
That day, the galaxy will go one step further towards harmony.


	8. Reward

There were some strange encounters. Those of the kind that leave you with an unknown aftertaste in mouth.  
For Valymn, it had been this great blade with severe hairstyle. The sullen look, the rigid posture, and the icy glance. He had scarcely dared to look at him. A cleverman didn't look a blade in the eyes. They were not equal. And yet, the warrior had sought his gaze, almost touching his mind sometimes. Especially when he was screaming on the two worshippers who served him as assistants.  
A little overwhelmed, he had finally confronted the blade. Well, almost. He stopped and fixed a point somewhere on the blade's leatherclad shoulder until he spoke to him.  
"Don't you know how to train your humans?" hissed the alpha.  
He faintly growled, vexed.  
"Our slaves are submissive and obedient", he replied afterwards.  
"Yes, because they fear you."  
"We are their masters."  
"Yes, but scary masters, who could kill them at any given moment", noted the blade with a half-smile.  
"We are wraiths, they are kine!" he replied, scandalized.  
"Indeed. Terrified kine. My slave is gentle and compliant. He looks for my satisfaction with dedication, not out of fear for his life, but in the hope of a reward."  
At that moment, he had raised his eyes, staring stupidly at the other wraith.  
"Humans only react to fear."  
"No. It is right that it's easy to terrify them, even a larva can do it, but to give them confidence, to teach them to... eat in your hand, is a real art form."  
The warrior had stared at him, looking happy to feel him puzzled.  
"Your slave is eating in your hand?!"  
"Way of saying. He knows that if I touch him, it is never to hurt him. If I put my hand on him, it is to give him the gift of life, or to reward him for his actions. He knows that no one has the right to raise his hand on him, or he will have to deal with me. He knows that as a good master, I will always make sure he doesn't need anything. Never hungry, never cold, never afraid, and in return for these few little things, my slave gives me everything. His life, his time, his mind and his heart. He has neither friends nor family. He exists only to serve me, and to revel in my satisfaction."  
The warrior had searched the pocket of his coat and produced a small paper bag.  
"I got those treats for him. In three days it will be a very important celebration for his people, and these things are a key part of the rite. By offering him these foods and mere hours of my free time, I am reassured of many a valuable and useful service. You should try it too. Maybe your slaves would stop confusing disinfectant and solvent while cleaning your tables."  
He had not answered then, only signified with a nod of the head that he had understood, and the blade left. He had not seen him again. The queen of the latter, who had come to visit, left a few hours later taking her wraiths with her, and life had resumed on the hive, but like a worm that makes its nest, the words of the blade had not left him alone, and he had thought about it, at the most inopportune moments.  
And then, months later, he found himself examining a glittering fabric on a mixed market of a neutral world. The shawl was pale blue, a shiny thread sparkling in the dim sun. Fair liked to wear that kind of color. She would probably appreciate such a present. He growled at the absurd idea, and walked away, before returning, passing again and again in front of the stand under the hopeful glance of the worshipper who held it.  
With a vanquished hiss, he stepped forward, the few coins that costed the shawl in hand. Fair would have a present at the end of the year, and he would probably find another for Febrile.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank's for reading. Please, tell me if you see some mistakes. Review and critiques are always welcome.  
> PS: This fanfic also exist in french on my FF account (atlantisdesetoiles).


End file.
